


Wrong Side Of The River

by themonsterswin



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017), The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, Multi, The Mummy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 00:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonsterswin/pseuds/themonsterswin
Summary: When Phillip Carlyle's old friend W.D. Wheeler shows back up in his life, carrying a mysterious puzzle box that might just unlock the secrets to an ancient city, Phillip is unprepared for everything that happens next. A story of ancient artefacts, mummies and a whirlwind of a woman named Anne Wheeler.





	1. I Am A Librarian

**Author's Note:**

> This is clearly a The Mummy AU, based on the 1999 movie (aka the best movie ever). Phillip is Evelyn, W.D. is Jonathan and Anne (who will be introduced in Chapter 2) is Rick.

“Tuthmosis under ‘O’?”  

Phillip Carlyle, balanced precariously on a tall ladder, frowns at the book in his hands, flipping it over to read the back, almost expecting there to be some sort of secret second title that starts with an ‘O’.

There isn’t.

“How did you get here?”

He realises he’s talking to _books_ , realises the hardcover’s not about to explain itself to him, but that really isn’t the point. The only company here (outside of the books) is the curator, who’s proven to be a grumpy man who doesn’t seem to want to waste time on Phillip and really, he almost can’t blame him.

It’s fine though. All the company he needs are these books, the antiquities in the museum, the stories hidden in the pages and hieroglyphics, the stories he can’t wait to read, to decipher, in search of some sort of discovery that’ll set him apart.

So the books are all the company he needs and it's the books he talks to. And complains to.

All the money in the world, all the connections through his parents, and still the Bembridge scholars think he’s not good enough.

“Not enough _experience_..”

Muttering under his breath, Phillip glances over towards the other bookcase, a few feet away, and then down to the floor, sighing as he realises how far down it is. If he could just lean a little to the side, reach for the other bookcase, then he won’t have to climb all the way down and --

Without thinking it through, he’s already reaching out towards the other bookcase, only for him to lose his balance, the ladder he’s on moving off the bookcase until he’s floating somewhere between the two bookcases, the precarious balance he had before lost in a matter of seconds.

“Oh shit..”

He goes tumbling down and the bookcase goes down with him, old and big and heavy and it hits the one behind it, creating a domino effect that Phillip can only watch from where he’s left to scramble back to his feet, cursing under his breath as he brushes the dust of his shirt.

“Oops.”

The dust settles to reveal the library in shambles, books spread across the floor and the bookcases lying stacked against each other, a far cry from how organised things had been before.

Cursing under his breath, Phillip glances around, knowing full well that amount of noise wouldn’t have gone by unnoticed and rather than stick around and wait for the curator, he turns on his heels and casually slips into the Rammesseum, closing the heavy door behind him.  

He keeps still, heart racing in his chest as he keeps an ear out for footsteps on the other side of the door, expecting angry shouts, cursing, but instead there’s a noise from the other side of the room he's in. 

Shuffling, footsteps and Phillip swallows, glancing around the room before reaching to his right, grabbing hold of the torch that’s mounted on the wall.  

“Hello?” 

He holds of the torch, the flames casting an eerie light across the room, illuminating the face of Horus, Anubis and - there’s the noise again, coming from the back of the room.  

“Jenny? Bob?”  

Inching forward, Phillip calculates his moves, knows exactly where he needs to place his feet as to not disturb the artifacts that line the room and he turns left, bringing the torch over to the left as well, then right, casting light on an open sarcophagus, the mummy inside and --  

“AH!” 

The owner of the sarcophagus sits up suddenly, emitting a screeching sound and Phillip screams in surprise, the torch slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground with a loud clanging noise. His heart racing, he brings up his hands, balled into fists as he stumbles back a little, breathing hard and he doesn’t even get to try and reason with himself before _laughter_ comes from the sarcophagus.

 “You --!”

“Drunkard? Fool? Rat-bastard? Please, call me something original.” 

W.D. Wheeler sits up in the sarcophagus, wicked grin on his face as he moves the mummy’s arm around, snickering as Phillip reaches out to pull a cigarette from the mummy’s mouth, huffing out an undignified breath and tossing the bud to the ground.

“Have you no respect for the dead?”

Unceremoniously hopping out of the sarcophagus (and almost losing his balance in the process), W.D. dusts down his jacket with that same wicked grin still on his face, pulling a fresh cigarette from his jacket, patting down his pockets for a lighter only to have Phillip snatch it from his fingers.

“What’re you doing here W.D.?” 

“What?” And the feigned innocence only makes Phillip cross his arms, shooting the other man a pointed look. “Can’t an old friend just drop by for a visit?”

“Do you need money again?”

And W.D. feigns offense at that, hand pressed to his chest as if it breaks his heart to hear Phillp ask that question. He slowly shakes his head, pulling the unlit cigarette from between his lips, carefully putting it away. “ _Not this time_ ,” he says and Phillip has to give him credit for not denying that’s what he usually comes to him for.

Sure, W.D. Wheeler’s a liar a drunkard and a fool, but at least he’s honest about it. To Phillip, anyway.

“I found something.”

“You’ve been scrounging around Egypt for five years now and you’ve never found anything.”

“This time is different Phil.” 

It’s the change of tone to his voice, the way W.D. actually meets his eyes that time that has Phillip stand up a little straighter, frown on his face as he finally uncrosses his arms. “I swear, if this is another worthless trinket ..” He trails off, shaking his head. “If I bring another piece of junk to the curator -”

And then W.D. reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and Phillip ignores the smile on his friend’s face as he leans forward instantly, reaching for the artifact.  

He’s fixated on the box, oblivious to the smirk on W.D.’s face, the smell of alcohol on his friend’s breath and it’s nothing new for him to show up here, to wave something in Phillip’s face and talk a big game about how it’s the next great discovery and he’s never right about it. 

It’s always something fake, something that thousands have found before him and truth be told, W.D. isn’t as great at hunting treasure as he likes to claim he is.

This though? 

Phillip handles the box with care, flips it over, fingertips brushing the polished wood, engraved in hieroglyphics that are familiar to him, spelling out stories of myths and magic and his eyes are wide as he looks up at W.D. 

“Where did you get this?” 

And had he been paying attention to W.D., he would’ve noticed the slight tension in the other man’s face, the way he seemed fidgety and it’s not the alcohol, it’s nerves, because Phillip isn’t his usual dismissive self and W.D. picks up on it.

“On a dig, down in Thebes _._ ”  

There’s almost a tension in the room and W.D. seems to have sobered up in a matter of seconds as he leans in a little closer, licking his lips as he tries to catch Phillip’s gaze. 

“My whole life I’ve never found anything,” he says, swallowing as he reaches out, points at the box in Phillip’s hands. “Phil, tell me I’ve found something.” 

And Phillip looks up at that, momentarily torn away from the trance in which he’s taking in the box, a hint of a smile finding it’s way upon his face. 

“W.D.?”

A pause. 

“You’ve found something.”


	2. Who's The Ofay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Anne Wheeler.

Cairo prison doesn’t treat it’s visitors kindly.

Known as one of the worst hell holes on earth, it’s filled with lowlifes and scum of the lowest range and ran by a scumbag who should really be in prison with the rest of them.

Anne Wheeler is one of the lowlifes currently in Cairo prison’s clutches and as far as prisons go, it’s really her least favorite one so far. Maybe it’s the damp, windowless cells they keep the prisoners in. Maybe it’s the warden who makes it a habit of sneering at her, throwing derogatory terms left and right. Or maybe it’s the fact that the guards have free range to punish prisoners as they see fit.

And Anne, who has trouble keeping her mouth shut at the best of times, seems to be their favorite target. No matter how much she  _ tries _ to ignore them, she then loses her temper anyway. And really, there’s a reason there’s fresh bruises every day.

It’s not the guards rewarding her for her  _ good  _ behaviour.

If she wasn’t so stubborn, Anne would’ve stopped struggling a long time ago, would’ve accepted her faith (and it’s not a pretty one). But as luck would have it, Anne Wheeler is  _ incredibly _ stubborn. And despite the threats of being hanged soon, she would never waste an opportunity to make the lives of the people holding her at least a little bit more difficult.

Which is why the guard behind her is limping a little, grumbling under his breath. Despite the fresh mark forming on the side of her face, Anne smirks, clearly pleased with herself. She fights against the grasp the guards have on her, tripping over her own chained feet. She’s not sure why they’re moving her to one of the outside holding pens, but she knows being moved is hardly ever a good sign.

Just as she knows it’s not long before she’ll be hanged. Chances are, they’re leading her to the gallows. If that’s the case, she’s gonna fight like her life depends on it. Impeding death makes her act out more and she can’t be sorry for it.  

“You told me you found it on a dig in Thebes!”

An indignified voice cuts through her thoughts while she’s hoisted up, still struggling against the guards. Her attentions were drawn to the visitor’s pen, where two out-of-place figures cross. The indignified voice huddles close to the other. One is a rather familiar looking man, the other is glancing around with wide eyed eyes as if he’s never seen a prison before.

Which, judging from the way he dresses, he probably hasn’t. 

“You stole it from a drunk at the local Casbah?!”

W.D. meets her gaze then, an easy grin on his face as he says, “Stole it from my sister, actually.” Anne can’t help but roll her eyes at him. She lunges towards the bars of the cell, only to be tugged back roughly by the guards.

It’s only then that Mister Fancy Pants notices her. Her amusement must be showing because a look of disgust crosses his face then. She’s sure she doesn’t look very  _ appealing _ right now, with her hair wild and her face covered in dirt and bruises. Prison doesn’t allow for her to keep up with her beauty routine. 

“Your sister?!” 

Anne gives him a once-over, mocking his disgusted look. She instead turns to her brother. “Who’s the ofay?”

There’s another look that crosses the man’s face: confusion mixed with offense. She can’t help but smirk at him.

W.D. rolls his eyes at his sister’s choice of words. “This is Phillip Carlyle. An old friend.”

“The old friend you keep failing to impress?” At this, W.D.’s eyes narrow, but her grin widens. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Phillip interjects, “We’ve come to ask you about your puzzle box _. _ ”

Anne sighs, shooting W.D. a look, then shaking her head.  She’s not surprised that W.D. stole the box. But truth be told, she’s grateful for it. After everything it put her through, the last thing she wants to deal with is that goddamned puzzle box or, more specifically, where it comes from.

So, instead of satisfying the (handsome) stranger with an answer, Anne spat a “No.” No, because she doesn’t think it’s the box they want to know about. Anne knows her brother. He knows his Egyptian history and his hieroglyphics enough to have deciphered what the box means. If this Phillip shares his interest in artifacts, then - “You came to ask me about Hamunaptra.”

The mere mention of the name brings the temperature down some degrees. A chill settles in the air. Both her visitors tense.

Leaning in closer, Phillip lowers his voice, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “How do you know the box is connected to Hamunaptra?”

Anne realises in that moment that she hasn’t told W.D. yet. She hasn’t had the chance or the time. Realises that her brother doesn’t know where she got that box. He probably assumed she stole it off someone. (And with her track record, it was a fair assumption.) But that’s not what happened.

“Because that’s where I found it.” Anne’s gaze shifts between her brother and Phillip. She quickly glances over to the guards behind her. Their disinterest apparent, she turns back to them. “I was there.”

W.D. snorts and shakes his head. He doesn’t believe her. “And how do we know that's not a load of pig swallow?” To his credit, Anne can’t blame him for assuming that it is exactly that: a load of pig swallow. Saying the Wheeler siblings never lied would be - well - the biggest lie of all.

Except this time, it isn’t a lie. She squints at her brother, but gestures for him to lean in closer. 

He hesitates. But after another motion for him to follow, he does so - only to regret it as Anne jabs him square in the face. 

“Ow!” With W.D. stumbling back, she expects Phillip to pull back as well, to recoil away from the violence. Except he stays, still reeling from what she just said.

He blinks with intrigue. “You were actually at Hamunaptra?”

“I just punched your friend.” This fellow doesn’t seem the kind to be used to violence, yet he remains unphased. In fact, Phillip ignores her brother. Interesting.

“Yes, well. I know him.” Shrugging, Phillip dismisses W.D.’s grumbles with his answer. Anne can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, I was there,” confirms Anne. She finds herself warming up to him. His interest lacked any irony. She can’t decide if that’s a good thing. Nothing good’s ever come from curiosity - much less when it was about Hamunaptra. But in her situation - what did she have to lose from being honest now?

With skepticism still etched on his face, she goes on. “Seti’s place. The City of the Dead. I’ve been there.”

“You swear?”

“Every damn day.” She grins.

“What did you find? What did you see?” Phillip edges close to the bars, their noses almost touching.

And while his gaze holds hers, the sides of her lips make a solemn drop. “I found sand. I saw death.” The only thing warm about her memories regarding Hamunaptra was the sun’s blaze. Her chest arrests just thinking about it. But there’s something about Phillip that hoaxes it out of her. Maybe because he’s a friend of W.D.’s. And while their relationship was a far-from-perfect relationship between siblings, Anne trusts her brother.

That trust extends to Phillip too. Maybe.

“Could you tell us how to get there?” He asks, remaining where he was.

She hestitates then. She promised herself she wouldn’t go back, promised herself that anything was better than that. A noose - however - wasn’t better. Steeling herself, she replied, “You really wanna know?”

“Yes.” He didn’t miss a beat with his reply. Enthralled, he kneels til they’re leveled. Anne inches closer, as if about to whisper the answer into his ear.

Only for her to press her lips onto his, making him jolt back in surprise.

The guards jump into action at that, forcefully dragging her back into the prison and there’s a wicked grin on her face as she disappears into the shadows. “Then get me the hell out of here!”


End file.
